


today's special: al dante kiyoomi

by wendysheep



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu is annoying and not even in the room, Awkward Flirting, Eventual Smut, Food, M/M, Onigiri Shop, Post-Time Skip, Social Media, brief atsuhina - Freeform, everyone is bad at instagram, food blogger kiyoomi, omigiri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27496735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendysheep/pseuds/wendysheep
Summary: Kiyoomi reviews food and fails successfully.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 136





	today's special: al dante kiyoomi

**Author's Note:**

> happy omigiri day!!! this is for the bingo - shop au, food, and social media (the university/highschool slipped my mind whoops). Quite honestly had no idea where I was going with this, it's kind of messy (really messy, this was intended to be a lot longer and more... 'getting together'), but it was fun and makes me want to write to more osaomi in a more focused plotline, aaanyway!

**Liked by tsumu.miya and 521 others**

**onigiri_miya** 🍙🍙🍙 Happy to announce that we’re FINALLY OPEN! Come on down and meet your new favorite restaurant, we’re patiently waiting for your arrival! 🍙🍙🍙

_View all 107 comments_

**ojirojiro** coming down asap, have a seat ready for me 👀

 **suna.rin** can’t wait for all that free onigiri

For someone whose entire job revolves around food, Kiyoomi doesn’t like eating all that much.

His reasons are pretentious and are given on his blog in the ‘about me’ page, next to a headshot of him looking away, posing candidly, and very much aware of the camera. _Food is an art form, it must be absorbed by more than just your stomach_. 

But his comment sections are always busy, and his reviews are highly regarded by a large and loyal following, so he can get away with it. And while he can acknowledge the bravado of his wording (totally intentional, nose all the way up in the air), he really does mean it. A decent meal satisfies your hunger, a great one satisfies _you_. He said that once in an interview and got a dignifying awe in response. 

And Kiyoomi is seldom truly satisfied by the end of his hunt, which makes it that much more compelling. He’s seen as harsh. His average meal is rated a five on a ten point scale, which means most of the food in this world is mediocre. Normal. Worse than horrible, because at least horrible is memorable.

He tries to explain this to a restaurant owner that doesn’t appreciate Kiyoomi’s last review of his restaurant. On his laptop, he’s looking through his concluding paragraph again. 

_The most impressive thing about ‘Ramen House’ is just how short it falls of being completely and utterly average. You would expect more from a place that would probably assign a waiter to wash your hands for you. Save your ¥3000 and just go buy yourself a packet of instant ramen from 7-Eleven, you’ll hardly taste the difference. 4.99/10_

“I was honest in my review, I don’t quite understand what it is you’re trying to argue, Hanzou-san. Your food was below average and your prices were too high. I don’t know how I can talk around that,” Kiyoomi says into the phone. A restrained groan can be heard from the other side.

“Your review is unfair and is bad for the business, people will follow what you say like blind sheep, you know this,” Hanzou, the restaurant owner, huffs. “We all need to make a living, Sakusa-kun, and yours happens to hurt the way I make mine.”

“And if I’d lied, it would happen to hurt the way I make _mine_. You can continue to complain and try to pity yourself into a better review, or you can look at what I wrote and read it objectively. You expect people to pay a price that makes them believe that there’s something special to what you make, but there isn’t. I can find what you make in a nearby convenience store and probably come out happier. It’s a long review, Hanzou-san, I suggest you don’t overlook my criticism as gratuitous slander.”

“How is the comment about the waiter _not_ gratuitous slander?”

“That was a joke,” Kiyoomi frowns, he was never the comedian. “But your waiters actually were slightly overbearing, so I would look into that, too.”

The line goes flat.

**Liked by tsumu.miya and 1,943 others**

**onigiri_miya** 🍙🍙🍙 The results are in, we’re already the highest rated onigiri shop in the prefecture! Thank you guys! 🍙🍙🍙

_View all 267 comments_

**tsumu.miya** @suna.rin made 100 accounts and gave u 5 stars on each one

 **suna.rin** @tsumu.miya not true, I left 4 stars on some

The food and drink column in the newspaper (a digital one, Kiyoomi’s not _that_ old) talks about a new place that opened not far from where he lives, maybe a ten minute speed walk, if he’s up for it. Everyone has been buzzing about this onigiri shop, and despite its fairly recent opening, it’s already become a local favorite, ‘begging to be discovered by the rest of Japan’. _Hmm_.

Now a _hah?!_ since Miya Osamu’s name is at the end of the article and apparently he makes onigiri now and apparently it’s incredible. What an odd development, Kiyoomi doesn’t know what to make of it.

Then he remembers he reviews food for money, so maybe it’s not that shocking.

Besides, Kiyoomi didn’t know Osamu all that well. It was his older twin that Kiyoomi had been to the youth training camp with. He remembers the few games he watched of theirs at nationals, remembers beating them at nationals. Osamu was the more well-rounded player, so it was inevitable he would be put in the shadow of his exceptional setter-server brother with a constant hunger to touch the ball.

Maybe that’s why Osamu didn’t pursue volleyball. Jack of all trades, master of none, overall merit of skill can easily be overlooked when there are players that, in the right position, are more profitable in the game. Like croutons on a plain salad. Game changer.

Kiyoomi puts aside the tablet before he can start feeling nostalgic and regret not pursuing volleyball instead of… whatever he’s doing now. Eating food he doesn’t like, being mean on the internet about the food he doesn’t like. He only punches up, he likes it when people older than him drop their mature facade and lose their cool, it makes him feel better about retaining the same level of vision for his future as he did in highschool, which was more or less _yeah, doctor, lawyer, yeah, something like that_. It's not that he was lazy, or that indecisive, just that he hasn't yet found something he's willing to follow through with for the rest of his life.

And _no_ , he’s _not_ jealous that Osamu went ahead and dropped volleyball to follow something he’s passionate about, even if it is just making onigiri, so stop asking why he just internally promised himself not to stop by!

**Liked by motokomo and 6,213 others**

**sakusa_kiyoomi** Lunch today

_View all 421 comments_

**motokomo** 🍜🍜🍜

 **motokomo** at least the noodles looked good!!

Komori had invited him for lunch a few days before and tried making him onigiri. “It’s not as good as Osamu’s place, so don’t judge it too hard. I’ll make udon, too, just in case.”

“I wouldn’t be able to compare it, anyway. I haven’t been,” Kiyoomi had said.

“Dude!” Komori just replied, the ball of rice falling apart in his palm.

So he caved into Komori’s adamance that he _absolutely must go_ , and fuck it, feed his own curiosity as well. Did Osamu make onigiri that looked like volleyballs? No, of course not, that would be too tedious. Kiyoomi is disappointing himself before he’s even seen the place.

The first thing he noticed was less due to the shop and more due to his own discomfort. The place had a line of people that extended out of the shop and onto the street, crowded, unmasked, covered in unidentified germs. You don’t have to see them to know they’re there, that’s what makes them so terrifying.

Well, he can’t say he didn’t try. It takes one glance of the kid picking his nose for Kiyoomi to turn on the balls of his feet and start walking in the opposite direction. He doesn’t get far, maybe half a step, when someone knocks right into him.

They both release an oof and Kiyoomi only hears his voice apologising. Their eyes meet, it’s a Miya. His hair is blond. It’s the bad kind, the Atsumu kind.

“This is a surprise, Omi-kun! How are ya?”

“Good, thank you,” Kiyoomi nods. “And you?”

Atsumu has gotten taller since when they last saw each other years ago. But so has Kiyoomi, so he angles his head slightly downwards at Atsumu to make a bit of a point before Atsumu decides to speak in patronizing riddles.

“Great,” Atsumu smiles, then looks down at Kiyoomi’s hands, like he’s expecting to see something. They’re in Kiyoomi’s coat pockets. “I’ve always wondered, do restaurants normally survive yer bad reviews?”

“Huh?” Condescending tone, question or statement that doesn’t make sense but definitely has an underlying meaning. Yup. This is definitely Atsumu.

“Aren’t ya—” Atsumu lifts a finger towards the restaurant and cuts himself off when his eyes shift to look. There’s a short pause. Kiyoomi is itching to walk away from the conversation. Atsumu drops his hand and his smile returns, almost bigger and more scheme-y. Not that Kiyoomi would accurately recognize. “Not today, then. Say, you in town for long?”

“I live around here,” Kiyoomi regrets saying it as soon as it comes out of his mouth. Atsumu’s eyes widen.

“Ya don’t say!” Atsumu’s too excited for reasons that Kiyoomi knows he’ll never find out. “Well I hate to cut the conversation short, but I have to get going now. Osamu left his jacket at mine, I have to return it,” he pulls the collar of his — of Osamu’s — jacket, “but I have no doubt we’ll bump into each other again. See ya, Omi-kun!”

Atsumu completely disregards the long line and slots himself between the door and a customer to get inside the shop, receiving a chorus of complaints that he also ignores.

The booger kid starts crying. Something about not wanting to wait longer, and why the yellow-haired man gets to go first. Kiyoomi speedwalks back home, not as annoyed by the yellow-haired man as he thought.

**Liked by tsumu.miya and 1,824 others**

**onigiri_miya** 🍙🍙🍙 This Sunday will be a RESERVATION ONLY day for in-restaurant meals, so make an appointment fast, before the open spots run out! Number in bio 🍙🍙🍙

_View all 192 comments_

**suna.rin** some of us have more important reservations to attend ✝️💒👼🏻🙏🏻

 **tsumu.miya** @suna.rin samu has less holy reservations in mind

The first thing Kiyoomi notices is how small the place is. He imagined it’d be bigger. No particular reason, he just did.

It’s also a lot… cuter than he thought it would be. It isn’t fair to assume one twin was like the other, but he had only one reference to create expectations from, so he doesn’t let himself feel guilty by it. Surely no one could have suspected a soft blue hue accenting all the furniture from a Miya.

There’s no waiter by the door to guide him to the table, which was fine, again, considering how small it was. What isn't fine is that he doesn't know which seat is technically reserved for him, and between the single-seater by the window and the empty barstools by the bar, he awkwardly stands in the door, waiting for whoever has their head ducked behind the counter to catch his eye. _Look up, what are you looking at, look up, help me, hello, help me, look up_ —

“Excuse me.”

The head pops up. Kiyoomi takes a second to register the face to the hair that should be gray but isn’t because it’s black.

“Ah, Sakusa. It’s been a while,” Osamu smiles, and it’s significantly less harmful than his brothers. Easier on the eyes, the black hair suits him better. “Where’d ya like to sit?”

Kiyoomi looks between Osamu and the chair by the window. His body moves of its own volition towards the barstool, Kiyoomi excuses in his head that he wants to see how the food is made. Hygiene protocol, yada yada.

Osamu seems pleased by the decision. Kiyoomi sits right in front of him and pulls down his mask.

“I didn’t know you guys were triplets.”

Osamu’s head cocks slightly as though he’s confused and Kiyoomi decides he’s never going to make a joke again for as long as he lives.

“Because—your hair—”

“Oh! The—black—yeah! Sorry. I got it now,” Osamu laughs and points at his hair. Kiyoomi’s glad to see he’s wearing gloves (they’re also soft blue, cute.)

“It looks better,” the words spill from Kiyoomi’s mouth.

Osamu grins. “I think so too. Don’t tell that to Atsumu though. It’s probably the first time in our lives that I’m Osamu and he’s Atsumu. Love him and all, but ya get what I mean.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t, he's never had a twin. He nods anyway.

“Let me know if there’s something we don’t have,” Osamu says, passing him a menu card. As expected, it’s also dainty and _blue_ and _cute_ , Kiyoomi finds it endearing.

“Big menu,” Kiyoomi says. All the options were complemented with small onigiri drawings.

“It’s why people like here so much. Hardly anything we can’t make,” Osamu says. The boast reaches his shoulders but not his tone.

Kiyoomi catches onto the _we_. “Is it only you?” No one else is around.

“Just for today. There’s less people so I gave her the day off,” Osamu explains with a shrug.

“That’s thoughtful.” Kiyoomi hums.

Osamu thanks him with a look that has Kiyoomi shifting in his seat and burning a stare into the smiling origini on the card instead of reading it. Osamu is kind of hovering then most likely notices Kiyoomi’s discomfort and backs off, pretending to go back to making food for the two other tables that were already almost finished with their meals.

Kiyoomi looks back up at him when he’s decided his order, but forgets it quickly when Osamu’s forearms come into play. Which one tastes most like Osamu? The sudden thought makes him flustered. His brain malfunctions and again, he’s speaking without meaning to.

“Recommend,” he blurts out and successfully grabs Osamu’s attention at the expense of looking like a fucking idiot. “Which ones do you recommend?”

“Our bestseller is—”

“No, your favorite,” Kiyoomi interrupts. Osamu thinks it over.

“That’s almost like asking what my favorite food is,” Osamu says, and Kiyoomi finds himself in front of him again, those forearms leaning onto the counter, hands facing upwards as to not touch it.

“I thought the answer to that was obvious,” Kiyoomi says. Osamu gives a light laugh. Kiyoomi is only funny when he’s not trying to be. That wasn’t even a joke.

“I know this is an onigiri shop, but that doesn’t mean it’s my favorite,” Osamu says like that’s obvious.

Kiyoomi doesn’t understand. If that doesn’t mean it’s your favorite, then what does?

“So, you don’t have a favorite,” Kiyoomi wanted to pose it as a question but it comes out as a final verdict.

“I guess not. Is that weird?”

“I guess not,” Kiyoomi parrots, “you spend your time eating a bunch of good food, it’s hard to pick just one.”

“You would know better than anyone else,” Osamu isn’t teasing, he’s sincere, they’re on common grounds.

“Mine’s more of a hobby, not an actual career,” Kiyoomi subtly argues, because he wonders what Osamu’s like when he’s a bit more fiery, intense. The conversation is becoming too obliging for his liking and he’s yet to see the same veins on Osamu’s arms show up on his neck.

“Sure it is, ya talk 'bout food ya hate and make money from it. I read yer blog, by the way. Yer ruthless, y’know,” Osamu says. Kiyoomi’s embarrassed and insecure. Not his blog! The one that is publicly published online for anyone in the world to see freely! He squares his shoulders, that hides his blush, right?

“Surprise me,” Kiyoomi nudges the menu towards Osamu. “Let’s see what you think is good.”

“No pressure, huh,” he takes the menu off Kiyoomi’s hands and scans it quickly. “Alright, I’ll surprise ya,” he puts the menu aside and returns to the small station a few feet away, scooping up rice to flatten on his palm.

Kiyoomi slides his index finger across the counter and rubs it against his thumb, pleased to see nothing build up. He looks over at Osamu, and is almost distracted by his absorption in making the onigiri ( _f_ _or me_ , Kiyoomi thinks), before he looks back down and slides the same finger beneath the counter. Again, nothing builds up. Kiyoomi is ecstatic.

For the next few minutes, he watches Osamu work, his mask up as to not let it show that there's a soft curl to his lips. At the cleanliness, at the food being prepared, at Osamu’s concentration face, furrowed eyebrows, pouting. Kiyoomi must be in a good mood, he’s thought the word ‘cute’ more in the time he’s been here than he ever has in his entire life.

“Do you normally let restaurants know yer coming?” Osamu asks, holding a flat plate with three wrapped onigiris in a neat row. He puts it down in front of Kiyoomi.

“Not unless they’re really busy. It’s easier to judge a restaurant fairly when they’re not trying to impress you,” Kiyoomi explains, pulling down his mask, and Osamu nods in understanding.

“I get that. Treat every customer equally,” he says, recites, maybe, from a restaurant owner manual guide. “But there can be exceptions.”

Kiyoomi nods. “For bad customers. Spit in their food.”

Osamu laughs and shakes his head.

“Drink?”

“Just water.”

Osamu returns with a glass of water in one hand, and a golden drink in another. He places both in front of Kiyoomi.

“Shochu,” he says before Kiyoomi can ask. “It’s on me. The whole meal, that is.”

“That’s…” not necessary, really nice, kind of hot. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Osamu pushes the drinks closer.

“Can you do that?” Kiyoomi asks.

“I own the place,” he shrugs. “I can do anything.”

Kiyoomi has to swallow whatever it is that balls up in his throat. He takes a sip of the shochu to wash it down. It burns his throat, in a good way.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?" Kiyoomi flirts, because it seems appropriate now and he’s yet to hear the kid on the table behind him remind him that they’re not alone. Besides, a free drink insinuates _something_. Surely.

“Not at all,” Osamu says soberly. Kiyoomi takes another sip to drink away the regret that is his rejected advance, but Osamu keeps talking. “But feel free to. I can walk ya home.”

“You know where I live?” Kiyoomi puts the drink down harder than intended.

Osamu looks away and smiles shyly. “Atsumu told me ya live somewhere around here. Sorry, that was weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Kiyoomi reassures, because he might take him up on the offer.

“Eat left to right,” Osamu points at the plate, steering the conversation. Kiyoomi is only slightly disappointed. He is about to eat, after all. Food made from Osamu’s own hands.

Kiyoomi takes a bite of the first one tentatively. These are Osamu’s favorite, so he considers faking his enjoyment if it doesn’t taste good, but he doesn’t have to. It’s delicious, the rice is perfectly cooked. Kiyoomi is waiting for another burst of flavor, but it doesn’t come. It’s just plain onigiri, yet he’s not disappointed.

“You need to perfect the foundation before building something more complex,” Osamu comments, watching as Kiyoomi finishes off the rest of it. Kiyoomi’s feeling coy, blame the two sips of shochu that did nothing, he lets his fingers slip past his lips, tongue flicking against them.

“It’s very good,” Kiyoomi says after swallowing, and he means it. As far as basic onigiri goes.

“Wait till ya have the next one.”

Kiyoomi does. Salmon. It’s even better. Kiyoomi praises it again, Osamu tells him to wait till the next one, again. Kiyoomi drinks more of the shochu, the water hasn’t even been touched. The third one, as expected, is even better than the last. The flavor of umeboshi fills Kiyoomi’s mouth, sour, salty, perfect, it’s his favorite, Kiyoomi could kiss Osamu for it. He could kiss Osamu in general, with his eyes all focused and hooded. Kiyoomi imagines that’s the same look he would receive when Osamu hammers into him hard enough to imprint the bed.

“I’m not drunk yet,” Kiyoomi says after downing the last few drops in the glass, desperate to make the thought a reality.

“That’s a shame. You’ll just have to drink more next time,” Osamu clicks his tongue, a playful smirk on his lips. Kiyoomi is thrilled at the mention of a next time.

He slides out of his seat, pulling his mask back up and thanking Osamu for the meal. Osamu chuckles, and Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow to question it.

“It’s stupid. Atsumu said ya probably had a notebook ya wrote in while assessing the food, I dunno, it’s stupid, he’s stupid, don’t mind it, I’ll tell him he was wrong.”

Kiyoomi’s hand shoots down to his coat pocket. The contours of his notebook pressed against his palm. 

He’s far more annoyed about the yellow-haired man than he thought.

**Liked by sakusa_kiyoomi and 2,547 others**

**onigiri_miya** 🍙🍙🍙 SURPRISE! New additions to the menu! Are you brave enough to try? 🍙🍙🍙

_View all 132 comments_

**ninjahshoyo** @tsumu.miya I am

 **tsumu.miya** @ninjahshoyo chiilllll

It’s been ten minutes, and Kiyoomi is still contemplating whether or not he’s horny enough to overlook the people crowded around the shop. It’s been two days since his last visit, he’s getting fidgety. He also needs to post a new review soon, so him coming back is also, primarily, for his followers (if anyone asks).

He looks ridiculous, standing there, leaning forward when he believed the review (the dick) would be worth it, and then back when the numbers in the line increased. It’s cold, too, he thinks he’s frozen in place.

“Omi-kun!”

Kiyoomi looks to his left. It’s Atsumu with a small ginger, smiling widely, tailing him.

“Ya look lost, need directions?” Atsumu asks, not sounding the least bit helpful.

“No, just…” Kiyoomi trails off and looks at the crowd pointedly.

“Haven’t changed at all, huh?” Atsumu chuckles. Small ginger, Hinata — Kiyoomi remembers, he’s hard to forget — looks at Atsumu curiously. “Ya hungry?”

Kiyoomi shrugs, sure. He’s not going to explain himself.

“Really hungry?”

“What? Yeah. Why do you talk like that?”

Atsumu laughs. “He’s got a place in the back, come on, if you can get through the entrance without killing yerself.”

If Kiyoomi closes his eyes, he can pretend that the people he’s slithering past are just soft trees. He follows Atsumu behind Hinata, whose head keeps flipping back to look Kiyoomi up and down.

“You still play?” Kiyoomi asks to distract himself from thinking about every disease that humans are capable of contracting.

“Yeah, with him,” Hinata says proudly, clasping the back of Atsumu’s jacket. 

They see Osamu behind the counter, completely focused on wrapping the onigiri in hand (furrowed brows, pouting). Beside him is a smaller, blonde girl taking orders, looking slightly overwhelmed but seemingly doing the job nonetheless. Atsumu calls for his attention, he doesn’t look up until the third time.

" _Oi, Samu!_ "

His pout turns into a smile when his eyes land on Kiyoomi. Oh, heart skip, body flush, hello, take me. Kiyoomi instinctively smiles back, but it’s hidden behind his mask. He doesn’t plan on pulling it down yet.

Osamu points behind him with his free hand and Atsumu nods. They go behind the counter and past a door. Before Kiyoomi is completely through it, he hears Osamu's voice.

“I’ll be right there.”

Kiyoomi nods and closes the door behind him.

It’s a small space, one desk, a couch, a coffee table, and another door at the end of the room. It looks like an office, probably for Osamu to deal with any relevant paperwork that comes with owning a business. Atsumu and Hinata are already sitting on the couch, no space between them. Hinata is practically on Atsumu, who doesn’t even notice it. Or he does. Kiyoomi doesn’t try to read into it.

“Where do I sit?”

“Not with us. Go to the next room, it’s Yachi-kun’s office,” Atsumu says passively, turning his attention to his phone as Hinata leans on him more, if that’s possible.

“The assistant?”

“Yeah.”

“She has an office?”

“Don’t let this room fool ya, she deals with all the business shit,” Atsumu doesn’t look up from his phone. Kiyoomi takes this as his cue to leave and enter the next room. It’s even smaller, but at least he has a table to himself.

After seating himself and taking off his jacket, his mask, he patiently waits for Osamu to arrive. It takes a while, so he fantasises about shoving everything on the table aside and bending over it as Osamu chokes him from behind. He jumps when the door opens, as if his thoughts were on display on a projected powerpoint presentation.

“Sorry, promise I didn’t forget about ya,” Osamu comes in with a plate in one hand and golden drink in the other. He sets it down on the low table in front of Kiyoomi. “Surprise. Hope you don’t mind, I think you’ll like these.”

“I don’t mind,” Kiyoomi reassures. Three onigiri on the plate in a neat row, just like before, except they’re not wrapped. They’re cooked and the toppings look crispy. Yaki-onigiri. Kiyoomi’s mouth is already watering. “This looks great.”

“I’m glad ya think so. Mind if I sit?”

Kiyoomi shakes his head. Please. Osamu slides into the office chair behind the desk. Unfortunately, there’s no seat in front of Kiyoomi, so this distance will have to do.

“It’s busy out there,” Kiyoomi informs, like Osamu doesn’t already know that.

“It’s fine. Yachi-kun’s got it. Fast learner. She did the menus, actually,” Osamu says.

Kiyoomi makes a sound of acknowledgment.

“‘Sides, I wanna see yer reaction.”

Kiyoomi feels his face heat up.

“Reaction?”

“Yer pretty expressive, you know,” Osamu says matter-of-factly. “Nice to see I can do that.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything. He’s worried if he does, he’ll say something embarrassing like _let me eat you out_ or _spit this shochu into my mouth_. Flip a coin.

He eats from left to right, like last time, and it’s all so delicious, like last time. He didn’t bring his notebook, because Atsumu is not allowed to ever be right about Kiyoomi, but if he did, he would just draw a smiley face. He hums contentedly, Osamu’s arms are folded on the desk, his chin resting on top of them.

“You don’t usually go to the same place twice, right?” He asks randomly. “I read yer blog again.”

“No, not really.” Kiyoomi falters, “you read it again?”

Osamu ignores that. “Even places you like?”

“I want to leave with a good experience. Going back risks that,” Kiyoomi says, downing the last of the shochu.

Osamu sits up straight. “How am I doing?”

“I've come back, haven't I?” Kiyoomi looks down at the empty plate, then back at Osamu. “I’m still not drunk.” _I still can’t come up with an excuse to get you to walk me home._

Osamu stands up, moving around the desk to pick up Kiyoomi’s empty plate and glass. In the split second that he’s leaning down, Kiyoomi finds his body tilting closer to him, trying to smell his musk. He’s aware it's weird, but Osamu is so close and if he angles his head in just the right way, their lips might even connect and Kiyoomi could finally kiss his way down to Osamu’s cock for dessert.

“Gotta go make sure Yachi-kun hasn’t dropped dead yet,” Osamu says, snapping Kiyoomi out of whatever dirty shit he was dreaming about, Osamu finishing down his throat and smearing it across Kiyoomi’s lips or whatever, he doesn’t have a half-chub or anything. “But I hear they say third time’s the charm, or something like that.”

Kiyoomi reaches in his pocket to pull out his wallet, ready to pay and get back home because he might literally explode soon.

“No, it’s on me.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “This can’t be cheap.”

Osamu shrugs, his back is against the door. “Tsumu and his team are playing a game this weekend. Saturday. They’re eating here afterwards so I’m closing early, if ya wanna come.”

“I don’t play anymore,” Kiyoomi says dumbly.

“I mean it’ll be pretty empty. Once they have their food, we can finish a whole bottle of shochu, if ya want,” Osamu hints. Kiyoomi gets it. He really wants. He also really needs to go home, like, now.

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi nods, “okay. Yeah,” and yeah, okay.

Osamu smiles. He pushes at the handle with his elbow (weirdly attractive, Kiyoomi jeans are straining), and pushes the door back, opening it wide enough for both of them to witness the horror that is Hinata on top of Atsumu, tongues down each other’s throats like they’re in a movie and Hinata’s the mistress.

Osamu’s telling them off, Atsumu is blaming Hinata, Hinata is thrown off to the side, giggling, and Kiyoomi is angry that the stupid, obnoxious, yellow-haired man is getting action in the next room while he goes back home not drunk enough and alone.

**Liked by suna.rin and 4,382 others**

**onigiri_miya** 🍙🍙🍙 Congratulations on the victory, #msbyblackjackals! Dinner’s on us tonight! 🍙🍙🍙

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**suna.rin** @tsumu.miya lol

 **tsumu.miya** delete this

 **tsumu.miya** untag me right now

The outside of the shop is decorated with black and gold streamers. Kiyoomi thinks Osamu either misses playing volleyball, or cares more for his brother than he’s willing to admit. Maybe he’ll find out one day, if they ever get to that point. Kiyoomi would like that.

He enters the shop, and if it wasn’t any indicator from the lack of a line outside, the inside was far more spacious than last time. Three tables are pushed against each other to create one long one to fit the entire team. They’re all yelling and laughing, Atsumu is frowning at his phone at the very end of the table, and Hinata is consoling him with pet-like pats on his head. A few seats over, Kiyoomi recognises Bokuto, who’s hair is just as ridiculous as it was in highschool. The old rival doesn’t notice Kiyoomi, no one really does, they’re too busy basking in the glory of their win and seeing who can make the biggest mess with their food. Kiyoomi is quick to head to the backroom. He knocks a few times before he thinks he hears Osamu telling him to come in.

Osamu is lounging on the couch, but straightens up quickly when he sees it’s Kiyoomi.

“Hello,” Kiyoomi closes the door behind him. They stare at each other, it’s surprisingly not awkward. It’s flattering he cares about his appearance, but Kiyoomi hopes his presence doesn’t make him uncomfortable.

“Sit,” Osamu pats the space beside him. Kiyoomi does as he’s told. Before he can process what’s happening, Osamu hooks his finger around the strap of Kiyoomi’s mask and pulls it off, putting it on the table with the cool of someone who didn’t just stop Kiyoomi’s heart from momentarily beating. “Drink?”

“Soch—Shochu,” Kiyoomi stutters. Osamu stands up and ducks behind his desk, pulling out a bottle from one of the drawers. Kiyoomi suddenly feels more relaxed. “Classy.”

“Being yer own boss has some benefits, I guess,” Osamu grins. He already has two glasses out on the table, he already had this planned. He pours the golden drink into both cups and salutes Kiyoomi with it before taking it down in one go. Osamu’s glass is back on the table before Kiyoomi has finished taking his first sip.

“No onigiri this time,” Kiyoomi comments. He's bad at breaking the ice.

“You on the clock?” Kiyoomi shakes his head. “You like my onigiri.” I like _you_.

“I never denied it.”

“I know, I just like hearing you say it,” Osamu admits, leaning back into the cushions. “You written a review for this place yet?”

Kiyoomi shakes his head again, finding his throat still closed up from the drink, from Osamu’s casually messy hair that Kiyoomi wants to run his fingers through and fix.

“Good. Don’t. Don’t mix business with pleasure.”

“You think you’re my pleasure?” Kiyoomi scoffs, because it’s not true, yet. And this is his way of flirting, through a hard-to-get disguise that hides as much as a celebrity wearing a cap in public.

“Yer _my_ pleasure,” Osamu declares. “But you’ve come here three times now.”

“And?”

“And…” Osamu shrugs, looking straight ahead. “And.” _And o_ _hmyfuckinggod_.

Kiyoomi’s grip tightens around his glass. “I’m trying to fuck you.”

Osamu’s eyes find Kiyoomi’s. He raises an eyebrow, though he hardly looks surprised.

“Well, yeah. That’s what I was implying.”

 _So why are we still not fucking?_ Kiyoomi decides he’s confident enough to ask that out loud.

“What, here?”

“Christ, no, what, you want to?” Kiyoomi puts his glass back down on the table. The memory of Atsumu and Hinata in his exact spot is almost enough to turn him off. Almost.

“I want to,” Osamu is sitting up straight again, facing his body towards Kiyoomi. “Yeah, ‘course I want to. Anywhere. Wanna try the kitchen?”

“You’re aware there’s a full-sized volleyball team just outside this room, right?”

“That’s not a no,” Osamu shifts closer.

“And the fact that it would break only about every restaurant hygiene regulation to exist,” Kiyoomi continues. Osamu’s shoulders slump.

“You’re not tryna fuck at all.”

“Why are the couch and the kitchen my only two options,” Kiyoomi huffs, “can’t we fuck like normal people?”

Osamu reads this as an invite, somehow, and throws one leg over Kiyoomi’s lap, straddling him, allowing Kiyoomi’s dick to harden beneath the pressure. Kiyoomi holds back a whimper, he honed his poker face years ago, Osamu won’t be the one to break it.

“Not into it?” Osamu’s hand lands on Kiyoomi’s dick. Nevermind. Poker face obliterated. So much for honing. “You so are.”

“Just walk me home!” Kiyoomi is so impatient and so hard.

“It’s pretty difficult finding an excuse to walk a grown-ass man home,” Osamu argues, then leans in to bite Kiyoomi’s cheek. The wet patch feels cool when he pulls away.

“Why do you think I’m always drinking?” Kiyoomi asks, hands finding Osamu’s firm thighs. Years of volleyball does that to a person. Osamu knees tighten their grip around Kiyoomi’s hips. “You said you’d walk me home.” The way he says it is only slightly pathetic.

“Did I?”

“Do you just flirt without realising?”

“With you, yeah,” Osamu’s hand clasps around Kiyoomi’s neck. Kiyoomi’s hips act on instinct. “I don’t think we’re moving too fast.”

“You think we are?”

“Just said we aren’t,” his grip around Kiyoomi’s neck stiffens. “Yer not even listening.”

“You’re literally sitting on my dick.” Osamu shifts again, Kiyoomi scrunches his face.

“I’ve waited a week to,” Osamu says, he’s proud about it. “I respect you like that.”

“Not enough to walk me home,” Kiyoomi shoots back, he swallows around the last word.

Osamu laughs. “Alright, kid, let me walk ya home.”

“Now you’re just saying it because I want you to,” Kiyoomi frowns. Being difficult is his specialty. Any guess on who’s to blame for his past failed relationships?

“Hand on heart I’ve been wanting to since the moment you walked in,” Osamu swears, grinning. “Since highschool,” he teases.

“Relax. I bet you were straight in highschool.”

“Yeah, I was,” Osamu falls off his lap beside him and pushes himself off the couch, standing up. “C’mon, let me walk ya home. I wanna fuck.”

“Jeez, you don’t need to be so romantic about it.”

Kiyoomi follows Osamu out of the door, then waits outside as Osamu leaves the shop keys with Hinata, and not Atsumu, because last he saw, Atsumu was shitfaced and could barely keep his head up from the table, bits of rice stuck to the side of his face.

They walk beside each other, pinkies hooking, unhooking, stroking. Kiyoomi’s not listening to Osamu talk about how much of a mess Atsumu is, Osamu’s dick is a long speed walk away.

**Liked by suna.rin and 214 others**

**tsumu.miya** I DONT LOOKLIKE THAT ILLOOK LIKE THIS

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**suna.rin** first

 **suna.rin** can you believe this app is free

“ _Sakusa_ —”

“The fuck?”

Osamu’s hips pause, his cock in Kiyoomi’s hand, a string of saliva connecting from the pink head to Kiyoomi’s bottom lip. He’s looking down at Kiyoomi, lips parted, face and chest flushed and covered in sweat. Kiyoomi might lick it off later.

“You do know my name, right?”

“Kiyoomi,” Osamu corrects quickly. “Kiyoomikiyoomikiyoomi—” Okay, he’s broken.

“Good,” because how embarrassing would it be if he didn’t, and how good does his name sound coming from Osamu’s moans. Kiyoomi’s mouth envelopes him again, forcing it down the back of his throat. It’s a full course meal, honestly, he could write an entire post about it. Very filling, good aftertaste, 10/10 would try again. He's tempted to move lower, roam only with his tongue. Osamu’s fingers curl into Kiyoomi’s hair.

“ _Fuck, Kiyoomi_ —”

“Were you actually straight?” Kiyoomi’s lips pull off from the head of Osamu’s cock with a pop. He’s genuinely curious, maybe more than he is horny, if you can believe that.

“I—what?” Osamu props himself up on his elbows. “I can feel your dick on my leg. You’re humping my leg.”

“But you’re into that.”

“Yeah—I—clearly,” Osamu looks down at his dick. It’s standing upright, twitches. Kiyoomi isn’t even holding it. “Is this the time?”

“It’s just hard to believe,” Kiyoomi wraps his hand around the length, Osamu raises his hips. “Look how much you want it.”

“Is this yer way of talking dirty?”

“Maybe. Do you want me to stop?” Kiyoomi pumps once, “look how you’re leaking for me,” then another time when Osamu doesn’t reply, then a third time, “your cock is practically begging for my mouth—”

“Wait, can you—” Osamu tugs on Kiyoomi’s arm lamely, “like, properly.”

Kiyoomi happily climbs Osamu’s body, nipping and sucking at bits of skin on his way up (Osamu yelps when he bites his nipple) before meeting his lips. It barely lands. Their mouths are wide open and Kiyoomi’s tongue frantically finds itself on Osamu’s chin, full of spit and Osamu’s precum. The idea alone makes Kiyoomi roll his hips, bring their bodies closer, as close as possible. They both groan, Kiyoomi wants no space between them, they’re breathing in each other's exhales, teeth clacking.

“You’ve taken it before?” Kiyoomi asks, because highschool Osamu, straight, you get it, it’s a formality.

“Like, in the ass?”

“Where else can you take it?”

"In the ear."

"Is that actually a thing?" Kiyoomi doesn't cringe, because who is he to shame others' kinks? If Osamu wants it in the ear, then damn it, that's what Osamu will get. He deserves that much, ear infection and all.

"Probably. It's a hole, isn't it?" Preach. “In the mouth," Osamu continues to list.

“I can fuck your mouth,” Kiyoomi offers.

“Yer blue-balling me,” Osamu squeezes Kiyoomi’s sides. “I’m not a virgin.”

“Ass virgin,” Kiyoomi makes sure.

“Yeah,” Osamu wraps his legs around Kiyoomi’s waist. “I was trying to impress you, you know.”

“I _am_ impressed,” Kiyoomi looks down the narrow space between their bodies, their dicks pressed against each other, against their abdomen, everything wet and sticky. Osamu’s bigger than Kiyoomi, only by girth.

“Not that,” Osamu taps Kiyoomi’s shoulder blade to get his attention, “but thanks. I mean I don't treat you like I treat the other customers.”

“I would hope not.”

“Does that make me a bad business-owner?” Osamu jokes, Kiyoomi tucks his arm underneath Osamu’s back for when he plans on arching it. The sheets are damp with sweat, Kiyoomi is okay with it.

“No more than it makes me a bad reviewer. I don’t know if I can remove bias, at this point.”

“That’s fine, I think the shop can survive without yer opinions,” Osamu smirks. Kiyoomi puts his free hand between them and yanks Osamu’s dick. He yelps. “Fuck! Calm down!”

Kiyoomi does, he’s stroking gently now, feeling every vein, better than the ones on his forearms, look how nice he is. Osamu closes his eyes.

“You’re right. I’ll stop bothering you,” Kiyoomi plants a soft kiss on his lips and surprises himself by the domesticity of it. Osamu mumbles something that Kiyoomi doesn’t catch.

“You can keep coming,” Osamu repeats when Kiyoomi asks.

“Is that an offer or a request?” Kiyoomi pulls himself back to see Osamu’s face in its entirety. Osamu throws his arm over his already shut eyes.

“Is it too forward to say the latter?” He says. The only visible bottom of his cheeks tinge. Kiyoomi might combust for two reasons now.

“I’m about to stick my dick in you,” Kiyoomi deadpans. This activity wasn't meant to be as lovey-dovey as it's becoming. “I think we’re past that.”

Osamu laughs at the not-joke and removes his arm from his face. Kiyoomi’s dick twitches. He’s seriously about to get off to Osamu’s face, like a total virgin. Maybe it is a little lovey-dovey, and maybe Kiyoomi doesn't mind it.

“Not if ya keep touching me like that,” Osamu looks down at Kiyoomi’s hand speeding up around Osamu’s dick. Kiyoomi’s mortified, maybe he _is_ a virgin, born-again or something of that sort, getting off to beating off someone else… Beating off _Osamu_. Nevermind, it’s validated. He pushes himself up anyway, giving both of them slightly more room to move.

“Sorry. Let’s actually fuck now.”

“Where do you keep—” Kiyoomi nods his head towards the bedside table. Osamu is leaning on one elbow, reaching over and opening the drawing, his hand grabbing blindly.

He pulls out a notebook that will do nothing to ease the penetration. Kiyoomi is about to complain, fairly so, his groin is aching, and he’s pretty sure Osamu’s is, too. Osamu’s eyes instinctively skim the page as he’s putting it back down.

“Wait,” he brings it back up to his face, Kiyoomi might actually drop dead.

“ _You’re_ blue-balling _me._ ”

Osamu grins up at him, the biggest one yet.

“You _do_ have a notebook!”

It’s official. Kiyoomi hates the yellow-haired man.

**Liked by onigiri_miya and 7,214 others**

**sakusa_kiyoomi** 100/10 🍙

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**onigiri_miya** fav customer

 **tsumu.miya** @suna.rin so apparently you gotta suck dick to get a decent meal around here

**Author's Note:**

> Because i couldn't help myself:
> 
> **Liked by ninjahshoyo and 2,721 others**  
>  **onigiri_miya** ❤️❤️❤️ Love is in the air... and in our onigiri! Valentine’s Day specials on the menu for today only — scrap the chocolate, you’ll definitely win their heart with these! ❤️❤️❤️  
>  _View all 381 comments_  
>  **bokuto4** @a.keiji  
>  **a.keiji** @bokuto4 noted
> 
> also im on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wendysheep) now, if u guys are interested o,o 


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